


Fire Alarms

by starlight_starbright



Series: Stucky College AU's [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Anixety, Art Student Steve, Avoidance, Blankets, Bottom Steve, Boyfriends, Breakfast, Choking, Clothes Sharing, Come play, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Play, Domestic Fluff, Endearments, Explicit Sexual Content, Fire Alarms, First Time, First Time I-Love-You's, Frottage, Grinding, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kink Negotiation, Lecture Halls, M/M, Misunderstandings, Music Student Bucky, Pancakes, Panic Attacks, Praise Kink (sort of), Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rough Sex, Rutting, Showers, Skinny Steve, Sleepy Cuddles, Snow, Sub Steve, Supernatural - Freeform, Top Bucky, bed sharing, breath play, dom bucky, idiot boyfriends, make-ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-14 12:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3411335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_starbright/pseuds/starlight_starbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something sets the fire alarm of and, thankfully, Steve forgets his room key.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All of these are based on college AU's floating around tumblr.

Its three fucking AM when the fire alarm goes of in Steve’s dorm. Three. In. The. Fucking. Morning. Steve groans loudly and gets out of bed, throwing a shirt on and wrapping his comforter around his shoulders. It’s the dead of winter and he has to go outside. Is this even fucking happening? Grabbing his phone, Steve stumbles out of his room, still half asleep. Everyone is stumbling around in the hallways, but Steve manages to see Sam and Natasha. They’re a few yards in front of him, and he tries to catch up.

“Are you fucking serious?” he hears someone yell. Steve looks around. It’s Bucky Barnes. The hottest guy Steve’s ever seen. The sweetest guy Steve’s ever talked to. The nicest guy Steve’s ever met. Steve’s almost positive he’s in love with the guy. He’s Steve’s best friend—other than Natasha of course—and so they hang out a lot, but Bucky still screws with him. Not in a mean way, of course, just an ‘I know you well enough that I can fuck with you’ kind of way. The kind of teasing that Steve doesn’t tolerate from anyone else—not even Natasha or Sam.

Natasha’s been trying to set them up for years, but ever since Bucky’s accident back in his sophomore year of high school, he hasn’t dated. Anyone. In four years. Natasha still tries. She assures Steve that he and Bucky would be great together, but Steve can see that Bucky’s not interested in him. They’re just friends. Or so Steve tells himself.

There’re grumbles from all around Steve, but he ignores them. He just wants to go back to sleep.

“Steve!” Natasha calls when he gets outside, looping her arm through his. “Why the fuck don’t you have a jacket?” Steve rolls his eyes and pulls the blanket tighter around his body. There’s snow on the ground and snow falling from the sky and Bucky fucking Barnes is still yelling. 

“Shut the fuck up, Barnes!” Sam calls good-naturedly. Bucky makes his way over to them, openly staring at Steve who’s only in a white t-shirt and black briefs. And his blanket, of course.

“Sam,” Bucky says, grinning. “Sammy, buddy. It’s like negative five. Why doesn’t Steve have a jacket?” Bucky’s gesturing at him. Natasha elbows him and Steve looks up.

“I have a blanket,” Steve mutters. Bucky laughs and a pang hits Steve in the heart. It’s beautiful. The laugh. The way he laughs. Him. Everything.

“Here,” Bucky says, shrugging out of his jacket and holding it out. Steve stares at it before looking back up at the brunet’s face. “Look, you’re gonna freeze, kid. Just take the damn jacket. None of your usual business tonight” Nodding his thanks, Steve slides the jacket on. It’s too big, but it’s warm.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, looking up at the bigger man.

“Oh, hell, Nat. Where’d you get this guy?” Bucky asks, still grinning. And before Steve can protest or defend himself to his best friend, Bucky’s arm is around his shoulders.

“You’re gonna give him a heart attack, Bucky,” Natasha teases, giving Steve a sympathetic look. She knows he’s still half asleep and she knows how much he likes Bucky.

“Yeah, the fire alarm goes off at three AM and Bucky fucking Barnes gives me his jacket. You sure I'm not dreamin’, Nat?” Steve’s only half-serious, though, and the four of them laugh softly together.

“I’d give you anything, Stevie,” Bucky whispers so that only he can hear. Steve stiffens, but Bucky runs a hand over his back. Had Steve heard that right? Natasha sends him a look—worried, maybe?—but Steve just shakes his head at her. He shifts from foot to foot in the cold, snow getting caught in his hair and freezing. All the while, Bucky’s arm is wrapped around him—which is usually normal, but not this time. This time is different. He’s holding Steve a bit too close, a bit too tightly. And he _never_ gives anyone his leather jacket. Any other jacket, yeah. But Steve’s been in the cold before without a jacket and Bucky’d give him his flannel before giving Steve his jacket. He _never_ hands that thing over. Ever.

Except this time is different. Something’s off, and Steve isn’t sure what it is, but he hopes it’s working in his favour. He hopes he’s reading it right, because if he is, that means Bucky likes him back. Could it be that easy?

The RA’s usher them back into the dorms and Bucky keeps an arm solidly around Steve.

“Shit,” Steve mumbles, just realising he’d locked himself out of his room.

“Hmm?” Bucky asks, looking down at him. 

“My key’s in my room.” He turns to look at Natasha. “Do you have your key?” She shakes her head and Steve sighs.

“Clint’s out this weekend,” Bucky says. “You can stay with me ‘till the security people come back on Monday. It’s not a big deal.” Staying with Bucky until Monday? So not a good idea, but he’s sure as hell going to do it.

“Thank you,” Steve says, allowing the bigger man to steer him in the other direction. "Thanks, Buck," Steve says again when they enter his room. Bucky shrugs it off, smiling idiotically. It's stupid enough to make Steve laugh.  

"I have your extra inhaler in my room. There's a pair of sweatpants on the chair. You should probably bundle up." Bucky scuffles into the bedroom to grab Steve's inhaler and Steve goes to put the pants on. He _is_ cold, so it's nice to have the extra fabric on his body. Bucky comes back in and pressed the inhaler into Steve's hand. 

"Thanks," Steve says again, taking a puff from it to steady his breathing. There's a tension between them that Steve can't place. 

“Stop with that,” Bucky says, looking down at him. “That’s what friends are for.” Steve smiles shyly. “You gonna be able to go back to sleep?” Bucky looks worried and Steve sighs. His nightmares have been getting worse since his Ma died last month. Bucky knows this and cares enough to ask.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” Warm hands land on Steve’s shoulders and steer him towards the bedroom. 

“You can have my bed. I’ll take the couch.” Bucky says it nonchalantly, like it doesn’t matter. But this is a huge thing for Steve. For Bucky. Bucky allowing Steve into his bed even if it isn’t for sex is a big deal. Bucky doesn’t let anyone in. And he’s letting Steve in. _When did this happen?_ “I’d take Clint’s, but his room is locked.”

“Buck . . . I’ll take the couch. It’s your bed.”

“Stevie, it’s cold out here.” Bucky gives him a pleading look.

“Buck, it’s your bed. I’ll be cold either way.” Steve sighs when Bucky drags him into the bedroom and gives him a small push toward the bed. Steve’s never been in Bucky’s room before. There’s sheet music all over the place—on the desk, on the floor, on the walls. His guitars are in one corner and there’s a keyboard in the other. But the thing Steve notices the most is the giant bed—not a college-issued bed. 

“I pulled some strings with the RA,” Bucky says in explanation, shrugging. Steve laughs softly and makes his way over to it. 

“We could both fit,” he says softly, almost to himself, but if course Bucky hears it.

“Steve . . .” Bucky tails off, looking slightly panicked.

“I mean, we don’t have to,” Steve backtracks, not wanting the brunet to be uncomfortable. “I just . . . you don’t have to sleep on the couch. It’s big enough for both of us without having to touch.” Steve gets under the covers and looks back at Bucky. The bigger man looks at him for a moment before nodding and slides in next to him. Steve goes to scoot over, but Bucky’s arms wrap around him. Steve melts and snuggles in close before he realises what he’s doing.

“Tell me I'm reading this wrong,” Bucky whispers next to Steve’s ears. “Tell me you don’t want me and I’ll back off.” Steve’s breathing catches. “Tell me, or I'm going to kiss you right now.” Lifting his head from Bucky’s shoulder, Steve looks into pale blue eyes.

“You’re not reading it wrong,” he whispers. Bucky lets out a groan and kisses him, warm lips and firm pressure. A hand comes up to cup Steve’s jaw, the metal hand secure on his waist. Steve’s never been kissed like this—tender, gentle. Like Bucky _needs_ this. Like he needs _Steve._

“You’ve been killing me all year,” Bucky gasps out before diving back in. His tongue swipes at Steve’s bottom lip and Steve lets him in, tongues pressing and stroking against each other. Bucky pulls him closer, rolls them so that Steve’s on top of him. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmurs, kissing along Steve’s jaw. “I was going to ask you on a date . . .” Steve kisses him again, shutting him up. Steve wants this. He wants Bucky. He doesn’t need explanations.

“Take your clothes off,” Steve says, but it comes out as more of a question. Bucky pulls away.

“God, yes,” he breathes, doing as Steve said, then pulling Steve’s off. It’s a little awkward with Steve on top of him like this, but it works, and they’re both naked in two minutes. Bucky’s metal hand is running up Steve’s side, caressing. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” Bucky grins stupidly at him and Steve finds himself doing the same in return. Bucky’s hand’s exploring, feeling. It ghosts over Steve’s cock and he gasps before arching into the warm hand wrapping around him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shaking slightly. It’s been so long since anyone’s touched him like this.

“I think I've loved you since I met you.” And then Bucky slams his hand over his mouth and pushes Steve off of him.

“What . . .?” It’s all happened so fast. Bucky loves him? What? And they were kissing and touching and now they’re three feet apart and Bucky looks like he’s going to be sick. Steve tries to reach out, to comfort him, to tell Bucky that he loves him back, but the brunet flinches away.

“I . . . I'm sorry, Steve.” Bucky looks like he’s had the wind knocked out of him. Steve crawls over to him and takes his face in his hands.

“What for?” he asks quietly, looking into Bucky’s eyes. “For saying you love me? Don’t be. Because I feel the same way.” Steve laughs softly at the look of shock on Bucky’s face. “I love you, too, dumbass. And we’re both idiots.” Steve kisses him softly, running his fingers through that soft brown hair. “And I know you’ve had some shitty things happen to you, but I won't hurt you. If you want me, I'm not going to leave you.” Steve hopes that was the right thing to say—hopes he’s helped Bucky.

“Yeah?” Bucky smiles shyly, placing a hand over Steve’s on his cheek.

“Yeah.” Bucky kisses him softly, slowly. “We don’t have to do this now. Or ever. I just want to be close to you.” Steve tries to back away, to give Bucky space, but the older man isn’t having it.

“I want you, Steve.” And that does it. Bucky’s on top of him, moving against him—their cocks slotting into place and rutting together. It feels so good, too good. Bucky’s moving against him, slow and steady. Steve can feel the muscles rippling in his stomach, the hardness of his cock pressed against his own.

“Oh God.” Steve grabs at Bucky’s hips, trying to just hold on and take it. Bucky knows how to move his body, how to move them together, and Steve is too turned on to care how it happens as long as it _does_. Because he needs this. He needs Bucky.

“So pretty, Stevie,” Bucky whispers, making Steve moan. “That’s it baby. Lemme hear you.” And Steve can't take this. Can't take Bucky talking like that. And the fucker _knows_ it. “God, you feel so good, baby. So slick and hard. I'm gonna come all over your pretty stomach. Gonna mark you as mine.” Bucky kisses down his neck, biting and sucking at his collarbone.

“Bucky,” Steve groans, arching into the touch. “Bucky you’re gonna make me come.” Steve can feel it—the heat pooling in his belly. This isn’t going to last. It’s too good, too perfect. Too much heat.

“Good, Stevie. Pretty baby. Want you to come for me. Wanna feel your come on my cock. Wanna hear you, baby.” He kissed Steve again, tongue lapping against the roof of his mouth. Steve’s hips are meeting Bucky’s now, thrust for thrust. Bucky’s pace picks up until he’s basically pounding Steve into the mattress.

“Oh fuck, Bucky. Oh fuck, I'm gonna come. I'm gonna . . . gonna come so good for you.” Steve doesn’t even know what he’s saying, but it drives Bucky nuts.

“Come for me Stevie,” Bucky whispers into his ear, nibbling on the shell. “Right now. Come for me.” And Steve does—on command. It rips through him and he cries out, loud enough for half the hall to know what they’re doing, but he doesn’t care.

“Shit, Steve. Fuck, ‘m coming.” Warm wetness paints Steve’s abdomen and Bucky groans into Steve’s neck, kissing at it softly as he thrusts out his orgasm. A few minutes later, Bucky’s still panting on his back next to him, so Steve gets up and cleans them off with his own discarded shirt. Climbing back under the covers, he snuggles into Bucky’s side.

“I love you, you know,” he whispers, tracing abstract art onto Bucky’s chest. “And that’s not just post-coital bliss talking. I think I've loved you for a while. You don’t have to be afraid with me. I won't ever hurt you.” The brunet mumbles something sleepily before rolling over and giving Steve a gentle kiss.

“Love you, too, Stevie. Thank you.” Bucky hums happily and Steve gets comfortable. Bucky’s asleep in seconds, and Steve’s kind of excited about the rest of the weekend. If his orgasm had been that good just from rutting, how good would real sex be?

But the best thing is knowing Bucky loves him. Knowing that his best friend, the man he’s been pining over for months, is in love with him. It makes Steve warm even in the New York winter, and it chases away his nightmares.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cuddles, breakfast, supernatural, hot sex, misunderstandings, and stupid idiot boyfriends.

Bucky wakes up warm and comfortable with ninety pounds of naked Steve Rogers sprawled over his chest. Memories of last night flood over him and he smiles, pulling the sleeping blond closer. He'd had sex with Steve. Well . . . basically.

Close enough. 

He'd admitted to loving Steve last night. Admitted it right to his face. And God, he'd been so scared Steve would run. But the little punk just keeps surprising him. Steve loves him back. Had said as much last night. It makes Bucky feel warm inside. He's got this man all to himself for two more days. And boy, what Bucky can do with two days.

But now he wants to know if they’re a thing. Bucky’s never been one for one night stands. If he and Steve are going to do this, he wants them to be exclusive. He doesn’t want to share Steve. He wants Steve to be his, and he wants to be Steve’s. It kind of scares Bucky how fast this is going. He’d had no intention of even kissing Steve when he’d invited the blond to stay with him last night, but here they are. 

Bucky looks down at Steve—still asleep—and smiles. He needs to get up, to move out of the awkward position he'd woken up in, but he doesn't want to wake Steve. Just as he decides to move anyway, the blond wakes. 

“Morning, baby,” Bucky whispers, pushing golden hair out of Steve's face. Steve mumbles something that Bucky doesn't catch and nuzzles into Bucky's neck. In all the time they've been friends, Bucky's never been with Steve when he wakes up and he has to admit that it's pretty adorable. Bucky's fingers trail along the tattoo covering Steve's back. It's a compass—Intricately designed with north pointing toward the nape of his neck. It's beautiful, really, and Steve drew it himself. 

Steve’s artistic talent never ceases to amaze Bucky. He always knew Steve was good, but a few weeks ago Steve had shared some sketches with Bucky and _goddamn_ the punk can draw. It’s breathtaking, the things Steve can do with just a pencil and paper. He makes everything look so realistic. He’d once drawn Bucky when they were at Tony’s penthouse in the Hamptons. It’d been late evening and Steve had captured _everything_. From the light glinting off of Bucky’s metal arm to the individual freckles over his nose.

So as Bucky’s tracing over Steve’s tattoo, he can't help but smile. He’s so in love with this man. With the way Steve can take something—someone—so plain, and make them so beautiful. He sees the beauty in everything and it’s a gift that Bucky’s almost envious of.

“Is that tattoo really that interesting?” Steve asks sleepily, interrupting Bucky’s thoughts. 

“It's beautiful,” Bucky whispers, running his fingers along it again.  

“You've seen it before,” Steve reminds him, pushing his leg in between Bucky's and cuddling closer. “It's nothing new.” 

“Yeah, but you're naked in my bed and that's new." Bucky laughs when Steve bites him. “No biting," he scolds, poking Steve in the ribs. 

“You didn't mind last night,” Steve mutters, pushing himself up onto his elbows to hover over Bucky. “Actually, you seemed to like it quite a bit.” Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“Come shower. Then we're making breakfast.” Bucky pushes himself up, cradling Steve carefully in his arms. The blond doesn't get up, so Bucky sets him down on the mattress. “Fine. I'll shower by myself.” He gets up and heads toward the bathroom. 

“I'm coming, I'm coming,” Steve mumbles, getting out of bed and following him. Bucky turns the water on and turns to find Steve leaning against the door. Bucky throws him a smile before scooping him up and dropping him in the shower. Steve giggles and then sighs as hot water runs over his body. Bucky gets in behind him and runs his hands through his hair. The blond pushes up against him, nuzzling into his chest.

“You’re clingy in the mornings,” Bucky observes, lathering his hands and massaging shampoo into Steve’s hair. “It’s cute.” The smaller man sighs happily and lets Bucky wash him off before doing the same to Bucky. They spend a bit too long touching and kissing, but eventually, they get out and dry off. Bucky lets Steve borrow some clothes even though he really doesn’t want Steve to cover up. But the blond will get too cold, so Bucky shoves down his desire and goes to make pancakes.

They stand in the kitchen cooking, bumping hips, and sharing short kisses. Steve will catch his lips quickly on his way to the fridge and Bucky will kick a foot out to hit him in the ass as he moves behind him. It’s domestic. It’s nice. It’s perfect, really. It’s all Bucky’s ever wanted. They get distracted once or twice—roaming hands and deep kisses—but only one or two pancakes suffer for it.

“Stevieee,” Bucky complains when Steve presses his cold hands under Bucky’s shirt and onto his stomach. 

“Don’t whine, Buck,” Steve teases, flipping his hands over so the other side can warm up. In all honesty, Bucky doesn’t mind this. He’d let Steve touch him all day. “You love it.” Steve reaches up and kisses him. 

“I love _you_ ,” Bucky counters. Steve smiles shyly and kisses him again. 

“I love you, too,” Steve whispers back. Bucky’s heart swells in his chest and he grins, letting go of Steve and setting two plates of pancakes on the table. Steve pulls out the butter and the maple syrup and sets them between the two plates. Serving out milk, Bucky smiles when he sees Steve drench his plate in syrup.

“You got enough syrup with your pancakes?” Bucky teases, and Steve scowls at him.

“Blood sugar,” Steve mutters in explanation. “What time is it, anyway?” Bucky looks down at his phone.

“Two PM,” he answers, grinning.

“What the actual fuck,” Steve grumbles, still stuffing his face. Bucky laughs and finishes off his plate. He sits back, watching Steve with a small smile. The blond looks up and frowns slightly. 

“What?” he asks, cocking his head to the right.

“Nothing,” Bucky replies quietly. “You’re just . . . radiant.” It sounds stupid, but Steve is just so damn distracting. His hair catches the sunlight streaming in through the window and the way it reflects takes Bucky’s breath away. But Steve just smiles a knowing smile, like he knows Bucky’s fallen hard for him and he feels the same.

“I’ll help do the dishes?” he says as a way to take embarrassment off of Bucky, and he’s grateful for it. Bucky nods and they take their dishes to the sink, Steve humming softly. The blond blows dish bubbles at Bucky and then laughs quietly when they get stuck in his hair, giving him small kisses on his shoulders as they work. When everything is clean, the two settle down on the couch and Bucky brings up Netflix on the TV.

“What should we watch?” he asks, letting Steve choose.

“Supernatural,” Steve says. No surprises there. “Season nine.” Bucky smiles and puts on an episode, having to restart the one he was on. They watch it quietly, snuggled up on the couch like they’re dating. And Bucky can't help but wonder . . . _are we dating? Is that what Steve wants?_ But instead of asking, Bucky just pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and wraps it around the blond, making sure he keeps warm, and hugs him close. He doesn’t want to ruin this moment—fragile as a soap bubble and beautiful as the sunset.

They watch three more episodes before Steve turns to kiss him. It’s slow and soft with breaks for Steve to glance at the TV or to laugh at something one of the characters says. But eventually, the show is forgotten and their kisses become deeper and a bit more frantic, a bit more sensual. Bucky’s prepared to go wherever Steve wants to take this and he’ll be happy with anything. If Steve wants to stop, they’ll stop. If Steve wants to take it further, they’ll take it further.

Steve swings his leg over Bucky’s so he can straddle his hips and continues to kiss him. It feels good—perfect, really. Bucky could do this all day because _God_ Steve’s a great kisser. Bucky can't believe what he’s been missing because he’d been too scared to tell Steve how he felt. But kissing Steve like this, touching Steve like this . . . all of his fear is gone. All of his insecurity, all of his doubt—it’s gone.

“Feels good Buck,” Steve whispers, rocking his hips softy against Bucky’s. Steve’s tongue presses into Bucky’s mouth all warm wetness and soft pressure. He tastes like maple syrup and Bucky smiles into the kiss. Steve rocks down harder and Bucky moans low in his throat, hands tightening on the blond’s hips. “You like that, baby?” Steve murmurs, looking down at Bucky through his lashes. Bucky shivers. Steve calling him “baby” does something to him—something he doesn’t understand but can't get enough of.

“Yeah, Stevie. Yeah.” Steve does it again, picking up his pace until they’re grinding against each other hard and slow, both moaning and panting heavily. Bucky can't take much more of this. Steve feels too good against him through the thin fabric of their sweatpants.

“I want you, Buck,” Steve whispers. “Take me to bed.” And Steve doesn’t have to ask Bucky twice. Bucky stands up carefully, cradling Steve in his arms, and carries him into the bedroom. Steve doesn’t protest this time—he’s too busy sucking and biting at Bucky’s neck.

“Mmh, you gotta tell me what you want, doll,” Bucky says, laying Steve down on the mattress. Steve grins up at him and wiggles his hips.

“Take these off,” he says, gesturing to their clothing. Bucky obliges happily because the only thing hotter than Steve is a naked Steve. “Get your lube.” Bucky does, and without instruction, he slicks his fingers and slides one slowly into Steve, watching his face for any signs of discomfort. There is none. So Bucky gets on his knees between the blond’s thighs and kisses the v of his hips, sucks deep red marks into pale skin before lapping at the head of his flushed cock. “Oh God,” Steve breathes, threading slim fingers through Bucky’s dark hair.

“Mmm,” Bucky hums, taking Steve’s dick into his mouth. He adds another finger, moving them in and out in time with his mouth bobbing up and down on Steve’s cock. The blond is breathing heavily, but not the kind of heavy that would concern Bucky. He’s not having an asthma attack, he’s just feeling pleasure. And Bucky wants to give him that—all the pleasure he can give, he wants Steve to have.

“More,” Steve says, bucking up into Bucky’s mouth and tugging on his hair. He opens his eyes to gaze up at the smaller man and adds another finger, slowly working them in and out and crooking them. He finds Steve’s prostate a moment later. How does he know he’s found it? Steve’s hand tightens in his hair and shoves his head down, almost choking Bucky on his cock. His eyes are watering, but the sting on his scalp and the feel of Steve’s dick down his throat cancels out the slight discomfort. Steve glances down at him and Bucky nods. _It’s okay_ , he conveys silently. “God, Buck. I need you. Shit.” Bucky lets Steve out of his mouth, giving the head a small kiss before taking his fingers out of Steve’s hole and grabbing a condom. The blond sits up and rolls it onto him before taking the lube and slicking Bucky slowly, warm hands caressing and gentle.

“You sure, baby?” Bucky whispers, wanting to make sure. Steve nods. 

“Yes. Please. I want you.” Steve grabs onto his left shoulder and tugs him close, kissing him softly and lifting his hips in invitation. Bucky pushes in slowly, kissing at Steve’s neck and listening for any hint of pain. They’re both panting when he bottoms out, and Bucky kisses him softly.

“Okay?” he asks, just checking in. The blond nods, and Bucky takes both of his wrists and pins them above his head. Steve stiffens for half a second before melting. “Really?” Steve makes an affirmative noise.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I like . . . being controlled. Being told what to do. Sometimes.” And Bucky can't believe how fucking lucky he is. Steve is all beautiful and aroused under him telling him that he wants Bucky to tell him what to do.

“I can do that,” Bucky whispers, kissing Steve again. “I don’t want you to come until I say. And I want to hear you.” Steve nods. “I want you to keep your hands above your head, and I want you to keep your eyes on me.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve murmurs, a wicked grin on his face. The little shit knows how he’s affecting Bucky.

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Bucky mutters. Steve smiles happily at him as he starts to move. It’s slow at first—Bucky knows he’s big and it’s probably uncomfortable for Steve at first. But the smaller man is lifting up to meet Bucky halfway, spurring him on, so Bucky thrusts harder, faster. Steve’s head tilts back, eyes squeezes shut. Bucky taps his cheek softly. “Eyes open, Stevie,” he commands gently. This is new to him, but the way Steve _reacts_. The blond groans deep in his throat and opens his eyes to gaze at Bucky.

“Please, sir,” he whispers. Bucky kisses him roughly and quickens his pace, pounding into Steve roughly. The smaller man cries out, obviously trying to keep his hands where Bucky put them but failing.

“God, Stevie. You feel so good,” Bucky whispers, completely gone. Steve whimpers—fucking _whimpers_ —and reaches up for a kiss. “You like it when I talk to you, doll?”

“Yes, sir.” Steve smiles cheekily at him and Bucky snaps his hips, wiping the smirk off of his face. “Please, sir. I need it.”

“You like it rough, baby?” Bucky asks, metal fingers caressing Steve’s throat. The smaller man groans. “That, too?” Bucky puts a bit more pressure on Steve’s throat and the blond nods. Bucky grins and clenches his fingers lightly around the pale expanse of Steve’s throat and fucks him hard, feeling his orgasm approaching. “I want your eyes on me, Stevie. I want you to watch when you make me come. I want you to see what you do to me.”

“Oh god. Yes.” Steve is completely wrecked now, almost unable to speak.

“So good for me, aren’t you Stevie?” Bucky asks, caressing Steve’s jaw. The smaller man nods, incapable of forming words. Bucky’s arms are starting to ache and he can feel the sweat rolling down his body, but he pushes his body harder,  fucking into Steve roughly.

“Need to come,” Steve grits out, hands clenched into fists above his head.

“Just a little longer, baby. You’re doing so good.” There’s a moment of silence, and then Bucky realises just how much Steve needs something to hold on to. “You can touch me,” he says, and Steve’s fingers dig into his shoulders. Bucky pounds into him and comes hard into the condom, pressing down hard on Steve’s throat.

“Come. Now.” And _fuck_ , Steve does. He cries out, head flung back, and spills untouched between their bodies. Bucky’s still thrusting shallowly as Steve comes down, still riding out his own orgasm before pulling out gently and disposing of the condom. Steve’s still panting beside him, shivering in the aftershocks, but Bucky doesn’t have cause to be worried yet. He cleans Steve up with tissues before pulling the covers around both of them, dragging Steve into his arms. After a few minutes, Steve still hasn’t spoken, hasn’t opened his eyes.

Now Bucky’s worried. 

“Steve?” he asks quietly, tapping Steve’s jaw lightly. “Talk to me, baby.” Steve’s eyes still don’t open and Bucky realises he’s crying. “Steve. Steve! Oh god, I hurt you. I knew I shouldn’t have . . . shit. Fuck. Stevie, please. I'm so fuckin’ sorry—”

“Shh,” the blond murmurs. Steve opens those vibrant blue eyes to gaze at him for a moment.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks, still slightly panicked. “Did I hurt you?”

“I think you fucked the vocabulary out of me,” the blond whispers. And Bucky laughs, breaking the tension between them. Steve rolls over to press his face into Bucky’s neck, still breathing heavily. He lets out a shaky laugh and finds Bucky’s metal hand, entwining their fingers. “I love you,” he whispers, kissing the underside of Bucky’s jaw. Bucky runs his fingers through golden hair and presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead.

“Mmh,” he murmurs. Bucky can barely keep his eyes open, so he lets himself drift.

-

When Bucky wakes, Steve isn’t in bed with him. He’s not even in the room. There’s note on the counter.

 _I just need some space to think. I'm sorry. –S_  

-

It’s been two days and Bucky still hasn’t heard from Steve. Has he done something wrong? _Of course you did, you fucking moron._ They’d moved too fast. He’d pressured Steve into doing things he didn’t really want. He’d taken advantage. And now Steve isn’t answering his texts.

Clint comes home and Bucky tells him everything. Clint doesn’t know what to tell him—he only says to give Steve his space. To wait it out, to give it time.

It’s really not helpful advice.

-

A week later, Bucky sees Steve in class. Actually sees him because the only open desk is the one next to the blond. He’s wearing a simple white t-shirt and black skinny jeans, but he looks beautiful. He’s paler than Bucky would like to see, but Steve’s always pale. Maybe he’s just tired.

Bucky fills the vacant desk, sending Steve a worried look. The blond pointedly averts his gaze, acting like he’s focusing on the lecture, but Bucky can see Steve’s fingers flying over his phone. He’s texting someone—probably Natasha—and Bucky’s heart hurts. Steve’d told him he loved him. They’d had a perfect weekend in Bucky’s opinion, but then Steve’d ditched him and ignored him for a week. And Bucky doesn’t know if it’s something he did or if it’s something wrong with Steve. 

Regardless, Bucky’s anxiety has been through the roof—he’s had two panic attacks in three days and he hasn’t been able to sleep. Because _God_ if he’s fucked this up, he’ll never forgive himself. He can't loose Steve. He _can't_. Bucky can feel his breathing start to accelerate, can feel the haze of panic closing in. He gathers his things and quickly makes his way out of the room, finding the nearest abandoned classroom before slumping to the floor and putting his head between his knees.

 _Breathe in, count to four, breathe out. Breathe in, count to six, breathe out. Breathe in, count to four, breathe out._ He repeats it a few times until his breathing slows, until his vision returns. His hands are still shaking, but it’s under control. Well, it _was_ until Bucky hears that voice.

“Buck?” Steve asks softly. Bucky looks up to see the blond hovering in the doorway. “Are you okay?” Bucky laughs humourlessly.

“It took me havin’ a fuckin’ panic attack for you to talk to me?” he asks angrily. Steve flinches, but takes a few steps closer.

“I guess I deserve that, yeah?” Steve looks sincere, but Bucky’s not sure he trusts it.

“Was it somethin’ I did? Did I hurt you? Did I pressure you? Tell me, Steve, because I've been killin’ myself tryin’ to figure it out.” Bucky’s on the verge of tears when Steve drops to his knees in front of him. The blond reaches out and places a hand on Bucky’s knee, thumb stroking soothing circles over his jeans. 

“No, Buck. No. I just . . . I needed some time. It figure some things out.” Steve’s so earnest, so genuine, that Bucky lets go of his anger.

“Why’d you have to leave to do that? Why’d you have to make me feel like what we had was nothing? Like _I_ was nothing.” Bucky bites down hard on his bottom lip as to not cry. He can't cry. Can't. Not in front of Steve. 

“Oh, God,” Steve breathes, moving closer and pulling Bucky into his arms. “No. James Barnes, you listen to me. You are so important to me. You’re everything. I just needed to get my head on straight and I went about it all wrong. It was nothing you did, baby, I swear.” Steve’s holding him tight, holding him together. “I'm so sorry, Bucky. I just . . . I needed to think. And I'm sorry I left. I could’ve just told you that, and I didn’t, and I'm sorry. I love you, I love you.” Bucky’s shaking in Steve’s arms on the cold tile floor, but it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because Steve loves him. 

“I just . . . I thought . . . everyone I love leaves.” The words feel like they’re ripped from his throat, and it leaves him feeling empty. Steve takes his face in his hands and peppers kisses over his cheeks and forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere, if you’ll still have me. I'm going to stay right here with you.” Steve kisses his lips then, soft and gentle and inviting. Finally, Bucky’s muscles unfreeze so that he can hold Steve back, so that he can kiss back. They sit on the floor until Bucky’s breathing is steady, until the shaking stops. Steve just holds him, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his lips. His hand is running through Bucky’s hair, calming him. “I have a very important question to ask you, okay?” Steve whispers in his ear, still petting his hair.

“Okay,” Bucky replies warily. Steve takes his face in both hands, pinning him with vibrant ocean-blue eyes.

“Bucky Barnes, will you be my boyfriend?” Steve asks very seriously, and Bucky can't help but break into a grin.

“You’re a punk, Rogers,” he mutters, bringing their lips together. Steve chuckles, kissing him back.

“Is that a yes?” the blond asks, still smiling.

“Of course, you idiot. I love you.” Bucky kisses him one more time before hugging him tight. 

“I love you, too, Buck. I love you, too.”

Steve is Bucky’s boyfriend. Steve is his. He is Steve’s. They fit together—they were made for each other. And no matter how many misunderstandings and arguments would come, nothing would change that. Ever.


	3. Outtake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By popular request--the last part of the fic from Steve's POV.

Steve wakes early in the morning. Too early. He’s too warm, too fucking _hot_. Steve turns to see that Bucky’s wrapped around him like a vine—completely tangled limbs and head pillowed on Steve’s chest. For a moment, Steve lets his eyes wander over Bucky’s naked body.

But the inevitable happens and he starts to panic.

_“I like . . . being controlled. Being told what to do.”_

_“Please, sir. I need it.”_

_Bucky’s hand on his throat._ _“That, too?”_

_“Steve. Steve! Oh god, I hurt you. I knew I shouldn’t have . . . shit. Fuck. Stevie, please. I'm so fuckin’ sorry—”_

Steve can't fucking _believe_ he’d let himself be so stupid. He shouldn’t’ve let himself go like that. He’d asked Bucky to _control_ him. Called him _sir_ and fucking _begged_.

It’s not that he’s ashamed of his kinks, only that Bucky’d been completely unprepared. They hadn't talked about it, Steve’d just thrown it on him. Bucky probably would’ve done almost anything at the time and Steve’d fucking _used_ that. He’d used Bucky. He’d used him and Bucky’d been so scared after. So scared he’d hurt Steve that Steve just fucking _can't_. He can't.

So Steve does the cowardly thing—he runs. 

He leaves some bullshit note that he knows won't help Bucky understand, but he can't put what he’s feeling into words. He knows that running is wrong. Even as he’s slipping his clothes on, his heart aches to curl back up in that warm bed with Bucky’s warm body pressed close to his and go back to sleep, but he can't. He loves Bucky—he knows that much. But he’s scared. He’s fucking _terrified_ that Bucky will look at him differently or that when Bucky’s fully himself he won't want Steve anymore. 

He knows he should wait and actually talk to Bucky about it. He knows he could wake Bucky up right now and talk with him about it, but he doesn’t want to face it. Not right now. He doesn’t want to see the look of disgust on Bucky’s face—the look he’s gotten from most of his other partners. Steve doesn’t think he could take it from Bucky. It might finally break him.

So Steve leaves and goes straight to his dorm. He still doesn’t have his key, so he bangs on the door loudly, not caring if Sam is in there or if he wakes up other people on the hall. He needs Natasha. He needs her strength. He just needs someone to hold him together.

Natasha opens the door slowly, still half asleep but waking up more and more with each second that passes. 

“Steve?” she asks, voice alert, eyes flashing. “It’s four AM. What the fuck are you doing? I thought you were staying with James all weekend.” Steve doesn’t even hesitate, just crashes into her and hold on, tears finally pricking in his eyes and overflowing. Natasha just hold onto him, bless her, and lets him cry. Feels her move to close the door and hears it slam shut. “Hey. Hey, what happened?” Her voice is gentle, tender hands rubbing at Steve’s back.

“I think I really fucked up, Nat,” he mumbles into her shoulder. She leads him into her room and they cuddle up on Steve’s bed. His bed is cold and it just reminds him of what he just left behind.

“Tell me what happened,” she coaxes gently. Steve sniffles and launches into his story, telling Natasha everything. He doesn’t leave out a single detail—knowing that she’s one of the few people that would never judge him. Natasha listens the whole time—just rubbing Steve’s back soothingly and reminding him to breathe.

She doesn’t comment for a long time, but when she finally does, Steve’s heart breaks just a little bit more.

“That was a dick move, just leaving like that.” Her voice doesn’t have any malice in it, but it’s firm and just a little scolding. “However, maybe you should take a few days and think about what it really is you want. Whether you really trust him with this. It took me a long time to trust Sam with what I like. A _very_ long time. But when it finally came out and we talked about it, Sam was fine with it. It took a little bit of practice, but he was willing to try it. And you said that Bucky was enjoying himself, right?” Steve takes a deep breath.

“Yeah, but we didn’t even talk about it. I just sprung it on him in the middle of sex. People do things they may not necessarily be comfortable with when they’re balls deep in someone.” Steve sighs and Natasha snickers. He smacks her lightly. “Don’t make fun of me. This is serious.”

“I don’t think it’s as big of a deal as you're making it out to be, Steve.” She sighs and hugs him tighter. “But I get what you’re going through. I understand why you're scared, but James has never seemed like the kind of guy to be put off by someone’s kinks. He probably has some of his own. And he told you he loves you, right?” Steve nods. “And you said it back?” Steve nods again and burrows further into her shoulder. “Then I think that you should take a few days to think, and if you really meant it, if you really love him, you guys need to talk.” Natasha kisses his forehead and pulls the covers over them.

“You’ll stay?” Steve asks, not willing to let go just yet.

“Of course, dumbass. I’m not gonna just leave you like this.”

“Thank you,” Steve whispers, closing his eyes. He’s so tired.

“Love you,” Natasha whispers back.

“Love you too.” They sleep like that—tangled together and warm and comforted.

-

Steve goes through the motions for the next week. Bucky’s texted and called, but Steve never replies or calls back. He knows he _should_. Bucky deserves some kind of explanation, but Steve isn’t ready yet. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know who he’s become. He doesn’t do this—this ignoring, childish thing he’s doing to Bucky. He’s always been straightforward and completely honest, but something about this situation scares the hell out of him. He can't afford to lose Bucky. 

And Steve knows that with ever passing day, every passing _minute_ , he’s pushing Bucky further and further away.

He’s making himself sick over it. He’s missed two days of classes laid up in bed after a bad asthma attack. He’d been panicking. Natasha had found him on the couch hyperventilating and white as a sheet. She’d given him a good lecture afterwards— _don’t do that ever again, don’t work yourself up like that, you can always call me._ Steve’d apologised and she’d ruffled his hair and told him it was okay, but to always tell her when he feels overwhelmed. 

Steve gets up the next day and showers, determined to go to class and determined to talk to Bucky. He’s done running. He’s done hiding. They need to have this talk and Steve needs it to be today. He doesn’t have much time to get ready, so he just throws on whatever his hands touch first in his closet and hurries out of the dorm with his backpack, phone, and keys.

Steve’s already late when he gets there and there are only a few seats left in the class. He picks one at random to sit in and scans the room for Bucky. Steve doesn’t see him, but it’s a big lecture hall and Bucky could be on the other side of the room where Steve can't see. There are a few people still filing in as the professor starts the class, but Steve still doesn’t see Bucky. Maybe he’s sick.

Well, he thinks that until Bucky sits in the empty desk beside him.

The brunet is tense, right hand clenched into a fist. Steve can feel Bucky staring at him, but he doesn’t look up. Grabbing his phone from the desk, he opens it and texts Natasha.

_I can't do this. He’s right next to me and I can't even look at him. I can't talk to him about this. He hates me._

The message bubble appears almost immediately.

_You owe him an explanation, Steve. You can do it. He doesn’t hate you. I promise._

Steve feels like he’s going to cry.

_I'm terrified. How do you know?_

Natasha sends him the smiling poop emoticon before typing out a real message.

_He hasn’t stopped asking me about you all week. I told him you were sick and had to bodily remove him from in front of our door and reassure him at least twenty times that I would take care of you. Just fucking talk to the guy Steve. You can do it._

Steve sends the smiling poop emoticon back and glances over to where Bucky is sitting. He goes to open a text message to Bucky, but the other man suddenly gets up and leaves the room. Steve stares after him for a few beats before gathering his things and taking off after him, ignoring the stares he gets from the other students in the room.

Problem is, Steve has no fucking clue where Bucky went. He’s not in the hallway, so Steve starts checking classrooms. He can't have gone far.

And Steve’s right—Bucky’d gone into the first empty classroom on the hall. He’s on the floor, head slumped between his knees, shoulders rising and falling rapidly. Too rapidly to be normal.

“Buck?” Steve asks softly. Bucky lifts his head, eyes rimmed red. Steve sees that his hands are shaking. His heart breaks. He’d done this to Bucky. “Are you okay?” Steve asks even though he knows Bucky isn’t. The brunet lets out a sad excuse for a laugh.

“It took me havin’ a fuckin’ panic attack for you to talk to me?” Bucky asks angrily. Steve’s heart drops into his stomach. Bucky’s voice is guarded—something Steve hasn’t heard in years.

“I guess I deserve that, yeah?” Steve says, keeping his voice level and genuine. He hopes Bucky can see how hard Steve’s trying. Hopes he can get his message across.

“Was it somethin’ I did? Did I hurt you? Did I pressure you? Tell me, Steve, because I've been killin’ myself tryin’ to figure it out.” _Oh god, baby, no_. Steve rushes to Bucky’s side, almost tripping over his own feet as he crashes to his knees on the hard floor. It hurts, but Steve barely registers it. He places a hand on Bucky’s knee cautiously, but when Bucky doesn’t pull away, Steve smoothes soothing circles on the side of his knee. 

“No, Buck. No. I just . . . I needed some time. It figure some things out.” Steve’s trying to make this right, but he can't get the words out. He’s so worried about Bucky—Steve knows he has panic attacks—that he can't get out what had really been bothering him. But Bucky visibly relaxes and Steve lets out a silent sigh of relief.

“Why’d you have to leave to do that? Why’d you have to make me feel like what we had was nothing? Like _I_ was nothing.” Bucky’s biting his lip and if this weren’t a serious situation it would probably turn Steve on. But the words Bucky’d just strung into a sentence turn his world upside down. Steve hadn't thought this could get any worse. He hadn't know how he’d made Bucky feel.

“Oh, God,” he breathes, pulling Bucky into his arms with as much strength as he can muster. “No. James Barnes, you listen to me.” Steve _has_ to make Bucky understand. “You are so important to me. You’re everything. I just needed to get my head on straight and I went about it all wrong. It was nothing you did, baby, I swear.” Steve squeezes, accentuating his words. “I'm so sorry, Bucky. I just . . . I needed to think. And I'm sorry I left. I could’ve just told you that, and I didn’t, and I'm sorry. I love you, I love you.” Tears are catching on Steve’s shirt and Bucky’s body is shaking so hard that Steve thinks he may shake apart.

“I just . . . I thought . . . everyone I love leaves.” It sounds choked, like Bucky’d not mean to say it but it’d just come out. Steve squeezes his eyes closed before taking Bucky’s face in his hands. Those eyes are so beautiful, so full of hurt. Steve aches to take that pain away.

“I’m not going anywhere, if you’ll still have me. I'm going to stay right here with you.” Steve kisses him then, hoping against hope that it’s okay, that Bucky won't push him away. It takes a few moments, but Bucky eventually melts into it and kisses back. It’s slow, it’s soft, and it’s everything Steve wants and needs. Steve pulls away and runs his hand through Bucky’s hair for a while before speaking again. “I have a very important question to ask you, okay?” Steve whispers. 

“Okay,” Bucky replies, tensing slightly. Steve kisses his forehead before looking into his eyes. 

“Bucky Barnes, will you be my boyfriend?” Steve’s very serious about this, but he breaks into a grin when Bucky laughs.

“You’re a punk, Rogers,” he mutters, kissing him again. It feels so good, so right. Steve wants to kiss him forever.

“Is that a yes?” the Steve asks, still smiling.

“Of course, you idiot. I love you.” Bucky brings their lips together one more time before clinging to him and burying his face in Steve’s shoulder.

“I love you, too, Buck. I love you, too.”

Steve decides that they can have the _other_ discussion tonight. He doesn’t want to break this moment. They’re together. That’s all that matters.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So they finally have "the talk."
> 
> This is probably the last chapter of this work unless inspiration for something hits me.

After Bucky calms down, they decide to cut the rest of their classes and head back to Bucky’s dorm room. Bucky knows that they still have a lot to talk about and work out and it’s better to get it out of the way now. Well, that is if Bucky can stop being distracted by the way Steve’s ass looks in his jeans—which isn’t likely. He’s holding Steve’s hand—in public!—and it feels nice. They’re officially _boyfriends_ and that . . . that makes Bucky feel warmer than he has in years.

Ever since his accident, he hasn’t let people close. He’d had “friends,” but never close friends—or people that he considered close friends. Steve, Sam, and Natasha had always been exceptions. And even with them, he’d distanced himself after his accident. Pushed them all away. Natasha and Sam had had the sense to back off, but Steve . . . Steve had never left his side. Even when Bucky’d yelled, even when Bucky’d _hurt_ him.

He hadn't meant to. He’d never meant to hurt Steve, but he’d been so _angry_ and Steve had been in the wrong place at the wrong time trying to calm Bucky down and Bucky’d shoved him— _hard_. Hard enough that Steve’d had bruises for weeks. Steve had told him not to worry about it—that he should have backed off when Bucky’d told him to—but Bucky’d carried the guilt of that for a long time. Long enough that he’d gotten it into his head that he couldn’t be trusted around his friends—not even Steve.

He’d retreated into himself and even _then_ , Steve hadn't given up. The little shit had sat outside Bucky’s door and read him classic novels and Shakespeare until Bucky fell asleep. He’d sat with Bucky at lunch every day even when Natasha had told him that Bucky wanted to be left alone. Steve had never pushed Bucky to confide in him or to see a therapist like everyone else. Steve had just been there. He’d always been there. 

And now . . . _now_ he and Steve are together. Together in the way that Bucky’s wanted since they were in high school. Together in the way that Bucky’d been terrified of—is _still_ terrified of. But Steve’s hand is wrapped tightly around his own and the blond is staring up at him like he hung the moon and that’s enough for now.

But, the other shoe had to drop eventually.

When they get back to Bucky’s dorm, Steve starts acting nervous. Bucky’s in the middle of ordering pizza when Steve crawls into his lap and starts mouthing lazily at his jaw. Bucky just wraps and arm around him and finishes their order before hanging up. When he looks down, Steve is hiding his face in Bucky’s neck.

“What’s wrong, Stevie?” he asks quietly, pushing blond hair out of his face. Steve just whimpers and kisses Bucky’s neck. “You wanna tell me, baby?” Bucky keeps his voice gentle even though his mind is running off on how many roads this could go down. Bucky really does want to know what scared Steve off, but he’s over being angry with Steve. If this is going to start a fight he’s not sure he wants to know.

“I don’t wanna but I hafta,” Steve mumbles into Bucky’s skin. Bucky can't hide his smile at how adorable Steve is right now. He palms the back of Steve’s head and kisses his hair.

“You can tell me, kitten. I’m not goin’ anywhere.” Steve relaxes in Bucky’s lap and takes a deep breath.

“I was scared,” Steve starts. And once Steve starts, he doesn’t stop. “I was scared and I was a dick and you didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve me just skippin’ out on you. I just . . . we didn’t talk about anything. I just sprung it on you. And maybe you were okay with it in the moment, but . . . I'm into some heavy stuff, Buck. And I was scared that I’d pushed you too far.” Steve would’ve kept going if Bucky hadn't suddenly sat up straight.

“You think your kinks scared me off?” Bucky asks, confused. Steve sits up as well, now looking confused himself.

“Didn’t they?” he asks, looking at Bucky and cocking his head. _This_ is what Steve was worried about? _This_ is the reason Steve’d ignored him for a week? “I mean . . . we didn’t talk about _anything_. I asked you to _choke_ me, Bucky. To tell me what to do. I basically asked you to be my Dom. And we didn’t negotiate _anything_ —no hard limits or safewords. I just sprung it on you in the middle of sex.” Steve is looking at Bucky like he has two heads and the head Bucky does have is reeling. Steve thinks that . . . that he made Bucky uncomfortable? That he _made_ Bucky do those things?

“Are you fuckin’ serious, Rogers?” Bucky’s kind of pissed now. “You couldn’t’ve just fuckin’ asked me instead of sneakin’ out and becomin’ a ghost for a week?” Steve’s biting his lip and part of Bucky wants to soften his tone and hug Steve while the other part is just pissed off.

“I know. I know that it was wrong. And that I could’ve just asked you. I _know_. And so . . . all I wanna say is that I'm sorry. And you have every right to be mad at me. Or kick me out. Or whatever. I would understand.” Bucky gets up, making sure that Steve lands on his feet, and starts pacing.

It makes no _sense_. It just doesn’t make sense that Steve would leave over that. That Steve would be scared that Bucky would . . . what? Judge him? Because they had some pretty fucking mind-blowing sex and Bucky would do that again any time. Maybe not the whole Dom thing, but he didn’t know enough about BDSM to really get into that yet. That doesn’t mean it’s out of the question, but Steve didn’t even fucking _ask_ him. He’d just left. In the middle of the night. And then avoided Bucky for a week.

He’d made Bucky thing he’d done something wrong. He’d made Bucky think that Steve didn’t want him—that he’d meant nothing to Steve. He’d made Bucky feel like shit because Bucky _might’ve_ been uncomfortable? There’s so much wrong with this. So much of this is fucked up.

“I can leave . . .” Steve offers, voice wavering. Bucky spins around and glares at him. 

“You’ve done enough leaving. Stay put and let me think.” Steve inhales sharply ad Bucky kicks himself. Just because Steve did something stupid doesn’t mean that he deserves Bucky being a dick. “Please. Give me a minute.” Bucky glances at Steve one more time, noticing the way Steve seems to be holding back tears. He’s biting that plush bottom lip of his and Bucky just wants to wrap him up in his arms and say that all is forgiven, but Bucky has a right to be pissed off right now.

Bucky keeps pacing for a few minutes, trying to work all of this out. But after a while, he just feels tired. Steve has already apologised and it doesn’t feel up to another argument. His phone buzzes signifying that the pizza is here and he goes to get it. It’s cold outside and he pays the delivery guy as quickly as possible before taking the pizza and going back inside. He sets it on the counter and goes back to the couch where Steve is waiting—still worrying that lip—and sighs, sitting back down.

“If it means anything . . . I'm sorry,” Steve whispers, not looking up. Bucky sighs again quietly and pulls Steve’s chin up.

“It’s okay. And we can talk about this, alright? You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I don’t know a lot, but I'm willing to try what you like. Because I liked what we did, and I'd do it again.” Bucky throws an arm around the blond and pulls him close because he still looks like he’s going to cry. “I’m not mad, baby. Just talk to me, yeah? Communication.” Steve nods and Bucky kisses his forehead.

“I’m sorry, Buck.” Steve’s voice is shaking and Bucky pulls him into his lap and back into the position they’d been in. Steve cuddles up there and tucks his face into Bucky’s neck. 

“It alright, sweetheart. We just need to talk more, okay? I know some things that you like, but we need to go through them. You’re gonna have to teach me because I don’t know shit about any of this.” He pokes Steve in the ribs. “It’ll be fun.” He gets a small laugh out of the blond and counts that as a win. “Wanna eat?” he asks, trying to break the tension. “Or if you’re comfortable where you are, we can eat later.” Steve mumbles something that sounds like _don’t wanna move_ , so Bucky gets comfortable. Steve’s breathing deepens and evens out slowly as his body relaxes inch by inch. Bucky just keeps rubbing his back and kissing his hair. Steve had gotten really worked up—he really _is_ sorry—and Bucky can't in good conscience hold this against him. 

Bucky knows about Steve’s past—the abusive past relationships and fear of future relationships. So Bucky understands to a point what Steve had felt that morning. Steve still should have talked to him about it first, but Steve isn’t always rational when he’s afraid. So Bucky decides that it’s not worth the argument—that he just wants Steve to be warm and comfortable and if that means holding him like this all night, then Bucky will gladly do it. 

“I like being told what to do,” Steve murmurs after a long time. Bucky’d almost thought he was asleep. “I like being held down. And . . . breathplay—the choking. Not hard, but enough to feel.” And Bucky sure as hell isn’t interrupting Steve to tell him that he knows what breathplay is. “Comeplay, too. But only in bed, really, with the being told what to do. I . . . I _trust_ you, Bucky. I trust you to do these things and you know that I don’t give that lightly.” Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s forehead. 

“I know, baby.” Bucky massages his shoulders, easing the tension out.

“I love you,” Steve whispers, looking up. His baby blues are red-rimmed, but the tears never fell. There’s sincerity in those eyes and his body is completely relaxed. “I love you, Bucky. I do. And I have a shitty way of showing it. But I've loved you for so goddamn long and I almost ruined it. But I love you, and I'm sorry.” Bucky kisses him then, licking into his mouth.

“I love you, too, darlin’. We’re okay.” That _finally_ gets a smile out of Steve and Bucky crushes him close to kiss him harder, rougher. Steve grasps Bucky’s hair and tilts his head so that their mouths slot together just right and kisses him deeper, pushing his hips down into Bucky’s. 

Now _this_ . . . this Bucky can get used to. Having Steve in his lap whenever he wants to make out with.

“No sex till you eat, baby,” Bucky orders gently. Steve groans and pulls off of Bucky. “Go get the box.” Steve’s eyes flash at the command, but he does as he’s told without a word. When Steve brings it back, Bucky’s bouncing his knee nervously. Steve places a hand on the knee in question. 

“That was fine, Buck. More than fine, really. I’ll safeword if I'm not okay with what you’re doing.” Steve smiles at him and Bucky takes a slice of pizza. It’s still warm. They eat in silence for a while before Steve speaks again. “Standard stoplight colours work for me, if that’s okay with you. Red, yellow, green.” Steve looks over to him, eyebrow raised in question.

“That’s fine.” Steve smiles and sits back, obviously done eating. “But I expect you to use them,” he warns, giving Steve his best stern look. It does the trick.

“They go both ways,” Steve murmurs. “If we get in too deep, you can use them, too. And I don’t expect you to be a Dom because I'm not exactly a sub. But bedroom dynamics . . . I think we could do that.” He looks up at Bucky for conformation and Bucky nods. “We may also have to talk about subspace . . .”

“I know what subspace is, baby,” Bucky croons, petting Steve’s hair. “And I don’t mind bossing you around a little bit,” Bucky replies loftily. Steve’s gaze heats up and Bucky knows mealtime is over. “I want you on the bed and naked. Now.” Bucky marvels at how Steve doesn’t even hesitate to get up and almost run into the bedroom. He takes his time cleaning up before drinking a bit of water and grabbing a water bottle for Steve.

When he walks into the bedroom, the scene takes his breath away. Steve’s clothes are folded on the floor in a neat little pile and Steve himself is spread out over the bed. His eyes are closed and he’s fully hard—ready and waiting. He’s so beautiful. The dim light in the room shows off his tattoos, but he can't see his favourite—the compass on his back. Bucky shucks his shirt before going over to the bed.

“Roll over,” he says softly and watches in amazement as Steve complies. Bucky climbs onto the bed to hover over him, kissing down the nape of his neck and down over the ink of the tattoo. “I don’t know how this usually works,” Bucky starts, lips barely leaving Steve’s skin. “But I want to hear you. And if you want something, I want you to tell me. I may say no, or wait, but I want you to ask.”

“Yes sir,” Steve whispers into the sheets. Heat pulses down Bucky’s spine.

“So good, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, kissing his way down Steve’s back and down to his ass, biting gently at the left cheek. “So pretty for me.” Bucky’s hand comes up to press on the small of Steve’s back, effectively pinning him to the bed. “Stay still, baby.” Steve lets out a whine that turns into a moan when Bucky’s tongue swipes over his hole. 

“B-Bucky,” he pleads. “More, please.” Bucky gives it to him, darting his tongue in and out of that perfect pink hole until its stretched and dripping and Steve is writhing.

“Stay still for me, baby,” Bucky orders, more confidence in his voice. He’s so hard it’s painful within his jeans, so he moves off of the bed to take them off. Steve turns his head to watch him, and _fuck_ if that isn’t the hottest thing he’s seen. Steve’s hair is in his face and he’s panting with want and need—for Bucky. 

“Bucky, please,” Steve whispers, reaching out. “Need you.” And how can he say no to that? So he grabs the lube from the nightstand and climbs behind Steve. 

“Turn over, sweetheart,” Bucky says, watching Steve fluidly do as he says. “So beautiful,” he whispers, completely rapt at the sight of Steve spread out and begging for him. He slicks his fingers and thrusts two into Steve without warning. “Don’t come until I say.” Steve nods enthusiastically and Bucky focuses on searching for his prostate.

“ _There!_ ” Steve moans, back arching off the mattress. “Ah, f-fuck, Bucky.” Bucky adds another finger, crooking them on the slide out before shoving them back in. He’s having way too much fun just watching Steve’s reactions to him.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he soothes, running a hand down Steve’s side. “So good for me.” Steve keens at the praise, blue eyes locking onto his own. Bucky can't get over how fucking gorgeous Steve is. Bucky has to get inside of his _right fucking now_ or he thinks he might die. “You ready, Stevie?” he asks, just to make sure.

“Yes sir,” Steve says, a small smile curling his lips. Bucky catches his lips in a kiss while he slicks himself up and pushes in slowly. Grabbing Steve’s wrists in his flesh hand, he pins them to the bed. Steve groans, lifting his lips and taking Bucky’s cock deeper. “Fuck me, please,” he begs, voice breathy and hoarse.

“Happy to, darlin’.” Bucky tightens his grip on Steve’s wrists before thrusting roughly into Steve’s tight heat. “ _God_ ,” he groans, eyes closing at the feeling of Steve around him. “You feel so good, kitten.” Steve arches his neck, offering.

“Please,” he whispers, making eye contact. Bucky blinks before letting go of Steve’s wrists.

“Hands on my shoulders, Steve,” he orders before wrapping his metal hand around Steve’s throat lightly. He fucks him that way, Steve’s blunt nails raking down his back. _Hmm,_ Bucky thinks. He may just have a kink for Steve scratching him. It sends an electric pleasure through his veins and Bucky feels like he’s going to come right then. He clenches his fist tighter around Steve’s neck—restricting his airflow but not cutting it off completely.

“Yeah, baby,” Steve moans. “Choke me. _Fuck_ me.” And damn, if that doesn’t turn Bucky on. Bucky pounds into Steve, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room along with heavy panting and Steve’s choked little cries of pleasure. “I need to come,” Steve almost sobs, hands clenching Bucky’s hips. Bucky’s inclined to let him, knowing his release is close.

“Come,” he orders. “ _Now_.” Steve clenches around him, reacting immediately to the command. His cock jerks between them and hot semen spurts between them and onto Steve’s chest. Bucky fucks him harder, chasing his own release. Steve’s so fucking _tight_ around him—clenching down in the throws of his orgasm—that it doesn’t take long for Bucky to spill inside of him. “That’s it, kitten,” Bucky mumbles, still coming down from his own release. Bucky doesn’t want to pull out—doesn’t want to get up—but he knows it’s going to get gross in a few minutes, so he does, going into the bathroom and wetting a washcloth to clean them up.

When they’re clean, he climbs into bed next to Steve and cuddles up to him, kissing his shoulders and neck softly. Steve reaches for the water bottle and takes long sips from it, slowing his breathing to a normal pace. His body is relaxed and warm next to Bucky’s in the afterglow—content. When Steve finally turns over to nuzzle into Bucky’s chest, his breathing is back to normal.

“Need anything?” Bucky asks quietly, stroking Steve’s hair.

“Just sleep,” Steve replies sleepily. Bucky nods and tucks the covers around them. “I love you.” And Bucky smiles goofily, loving the way those words sound rolling off Steve’s tongue.

“I love you, too, baby. Get some rest.” Steve nods and he’s asleep in two seconds, breathing evenly against Bucky’s neck. It’s a good way to fall asleep—Steve curled up and warm in his arms. And Bucky’s happier than he’s been in years. 

They’re going to be okay.


End file.
